


Afternoon Tea with Aphrodite

by amauve



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Aphrodite Ships It, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Friendship, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amauve/pseuds/amauve
Summary: Colette Winslow has only one thing on her mind: becoming the next head honcho of the Aphrodite cabin. Sure, she was a little shallow as a result but she could live with that. All she needed was one conversation with Aphrodite, and maybe then she'd have answers to the questions still haunting her about her father's disappearance during an expedition three years prior. The problem was- Aphrodite wouldn't give her the time of day.When Colette's younger sister Rosemary goes missing one night in a way all-too-familiar to her, though half-drunk and super frazzled, Colette embarks on her first-ever quest to save her sister and honor her father's last words to her. Joining her is the goofball son of Hermes, Hunter, determined to right the wrongs of his past, and his eccentric best friend, Ali, daughter of Demeter, just looking for some time away from her meddlesome mother's radar.Struggling to find a balance between the different forms of love sneaking into her life, this daughter of Aphrodite finds herself floundering about like a fish out of water. But, despite feeling the air leave her lungs, Colette knows one thing for sure: she wasn't going to give up until Rosemary was safe again and in her arms.





	1. Prologue

☆ - ☆ - ☆

What my dad liked most about Camp Half-Blood was the smell; he liked the way the smell of strawberries from the field just a few miles down mixed with the scent of metal, ash, and water from the Long Island Sound. He'd only been there once, to go through the paperwork and logistics with Chiron and Mr. D, but to me, his footsteps were etched into the soil.

We had about an hour to explore before he'd be kicked out of there and sent back into "the mortal world" (as my dad liked to call it) but, instead of trying to cram in a tour of everything Camp had to offer, we sat on some grass looking over the Sound and shared a box of strawberries. Rosemary ate most of them. Dad and I just watched the water and talked about the expedition he was preparing to go on. He'd been planning it for years but it didn't seem real to me, even then. We begged him to take us, but of course, he wouldn't.

He told us we'd be safest here. He'd even applied for us to stay a little bit past the summer, going a few weeks into September. I didn't have the strength to keep protesting. I was stubborn and aggressive but my dad was frustratingly unbothered. I can't remember him yelling at me even once, though I definitely deserved it.

During our talk, he explained that he thought I'd really like it here and that Aphrodite thought so, too. I'd met her only a few times before and not for very long. She was... well, of course, she was beautiful. Not even someone as level headed and collected as my dad could resist her. Still, there was nothing that triumphed his devotion to the book he was working on, that would finally be completed after he followed through with this expedition. He was an anthropologist specializing in archaeology, working down at Columbia, and he and a bunch of his graduate students were fixated on these relics hidden by this no-name tribe of nomads. All the myths and stories told about these relics described them to have unfathomable power, some with enough influence to mess with the human heart, something supposedly untouchable.

That was the relic he was most excited about it. He described it to be this small, handheld mirror made of gold and obsidian. You couldn't actually see your reflection in it. You didn't see much of anything. Inside, lived a being, which he told us was similar to the likes of a genie, ready to be set free. And once you released it, it'd give you anything you could ever dream of. There were so many stories that my dad told me about it, usually involving humans, so spun by greed, the mirror was able to encapture their souls. I had always wondered if my dad wanted to wish for anything with it but, I was pretty sure he was more into the adventure of finding it and the mythology surrounding it than whether or not it was actually capable of anything.

He wrote everything down in this ratty, brown, leather notebook with a lock so strong, I chipped a couple of nails everytime I fiddled with it. He found it funny that I was so interested in what was inside, especially since he told us all these stories about the relics anyway that were meant to satiate our curiosity. He told me that he bought a new notebook earlier that day and that he'd scanned, photographed, and memorized his previous one to ensure there was never a chance of losing the information he'd stored. This new notebook was bigger, had a thick black cover, and the lock was also substantially stronger. And, it was empty, untainted by my dad's scribbly, illegible handwriting.

He pretty much broke my heart when he handed his old journal to Rosemary on the walk out of Camp. He'd taken her aside, whispered something or other, handed her a rusty little key, and just... passed it on to her like it was nothing. Like he hadn't made such a big deal to keep us from it all this time. She was only 8 and this shy, small, ball of fluff that seldom spoke and was shaken by the sight of a dead cockroach. She clutched it to her chest and squeezed it so hard, I was afraid the book would burst, and the pages would come flying out. Maybe some part of me wanted that to happen. It felt so wrong seeing her with it but for the first time in my life, I shut my damn mouth and said nothing. He waved goodbye and as he did, a strong gust of wind blew his glasses right off his face. I rolled my eyes but couldn't hold back a smile as I grabbed it and handed it back to him. He reached forward, ruffled my hair, and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Watch out for her, okay?" he told me, looking over at Rosemary, who was clutching the notebook to her chest and on the verge of tears. "Don't ever forget, I love you girls more than anything."

That was one of the few times I ever doubted something my dad said. If he loved us, he wouldn't be leaving. But, I felt so guilty for thinking that, so I shook the thought away and smiled really big at him while he walked away from us.

That first summer at Camp, I couldn't sleep a wink. I had a nightmare almost every single time I tried to get to sleep and it was usually about the same exact thing, just in different formats. The first nightmare I had, I saw my dad, dirt, and soot smeared all over his face, pressed against a wall by a pair of hands that were wrapped around his neck. I'd never seen fear like that on his face before. All I could ever do was stand there and watch, screaming desperately, but no sound came out. I'd wake up in tears, broken, and feeling hopeless. Sometimes, the dream was under water. Or, in the dark. But, it never stopped giving me goosebumps-- I just stopped crying over it. It's funny how easily a person can harden.

Summer passed, September came, and we waited and waited for him to show up and take us back to our cramped, Brooklyn apartment, where we'd laugh about how his expedition was a wild goose chase and eat greasy food while watching the Discovery channel. Rosemary had such strong, unshaken faith that he'd be back and that he was probably just sidetracked, collecting crystals for us to make jewelry with like he always did on his other trips. She didn't realize how much hope I'd started to lose and how real my nightmares started to feel.

In October, our grandparents came to pick us up from what they thought was just any other sleepaway camp. They explained that his trip was taking a lot longer than they'd planned and that for a while, we'd have to live with them in Long Island. We loved our grandparents so, so dearly but the moment we saw their faces instead of our dad's, we crumbled. We didn't know how to live in a world without him.

I remember those first few nights, I begged Rosemary to let me see the journal and to let me see inside, and though she was reluctant, she eventually caved. She opened it up for me with the key she wore around her neck. When I looked down at the pages, hoping to find answers or even just a piece of my dad, tucked away in his writing, I stared in horror. The pages were empty. I couldn't see a thing. But, she could. I looked up at Rosemary and have never felt further from her than I did at that moment. Far from her, far from him, and all the bullshit stories he had crafted to keep us company in his place.

After about three years passed, we went from dreading summers at Camp Half-Blood to anxiously waiting for them, as they became an escape from our mundane life in Long Island. There were still some fucked up mornings, though, where I'd look out at the Sound and wonder where he was; If he was gone, if he was dead, if he just left us behind, and if we'll ever be able to let him go.

Here's something I came to realize: I completely disagree with him about the smell of Camp Half-Blood. Once you get used to breathing it in, it loses its allure. How did he think the sweet, almost nauseatingly so, smell of strawberries and the smell of freshly sharpened swords could work in harmony? I imagined arguments with him in my head all the time. He's trying to convince me to be positive, see the silver lining, and drop the grinchy attitude I liked to bring out especially when talking to him. Then, I'd shoot him down with perfect reasoning and logic that was just... undeniable. We'd veer off from the topic, but we'd have so much fun doing it that we'd completely forget what we were arguing about in the first place. And though his voice was so clear in my head, it wasn't very satisfying. It didn't mean anything.

On the drive to Camp Half-Blood this year, which was about an hour, grandpa practically busted his radio trying to get it to work so that we'd have some music to listen to. He was sweet like that. It was a bumpy ride and I was ready to hurl but kept myself composed because I didn't want to have to redo my makeup. Rosemary took a nap. When we finally got there, grandpa waved us off and told us, though he was looking at me specifically, not to have too good a time.

I laughed and gave him a squeeze before racing Rosemary up the hill to the entrance.

We stood there, at the edge of the border between Camp Half-Blood and the rest of Long Island, and I took a deep breath. It was so hard not to think of him, standing there. This place would always, even if just a little bit, be haunted by him.

"Ready?" I asked Rosemary, trying to mask my own restlessness.

She nodded and together, we crossed the threshold into Camp Half-Blood, ready for another summer of sword-fighting, parties, and late-night games of Capture the Flag.

What you never realize about summer is that as much as it can sweep you away in the romance of warm nights out and friendly faces, it can also knock the air right out of your lungs when things start to go wrong and the spell is broken.

☆ - ☆ - ☆


	2. Apples?

It was around 2:30 AM, Sunday night, warm, humid weather, and I was exhausted. Heels in my hands, I started walking all the way back to my cabin from the Dionysus cabin. It wasn’t very far in distance. What I was more worried about was the possibility of one of the security harpies spotting me, especially since they were just looking for a chance to pick me up by their rugged, unkempt talons and whisk me away to the big house for a meeting with the directors. They hadn’t ever caught me before but they’d come close, dangerously close-- and, can I just say? Nobody should have to withstand the smell of a raw chicken, mixed with seafood, with a dash of cheez whiz, all at once at such close proximity.  
I take walks like these pretty often. Almost every weekend (as is the summer party schedule) but today, I was especially out of it and feeling pretty grumpy. The party was boring. All anyone wanted to do was drink and stagger around on the dance floor (makeshift) but I, honestly, am not much of a drinker. Or a dancer. I might not even be much of a party person, but my appearance was important and setting an important precedent. Or something.

  
I was really in my head, all of a sudden, questioning and doubting just about every decision I had ever made. My eyes were dead set on the path in front of me, which I’d taken many times before, which is probably why I was so quick to spot the massive, completely out of place, apple tree, lingering just a few cabins down from mine. It seemed to have risen up completely out of nowhere. And, there was something terribly cartoon-y about it. Discomforting, almost. Even though I was a little wobbly, I paced all around the trunk, looked it up and down, and feeling around, really trying to figure out what it's deal was.

  
Someone had clearly put this thing here unless I was to believe a random, weird looking apple tree just decided to spawn out of nowhere, though this was not the kind of thing that would go unnoticed in Camp Half-Blood. Chiron is pretty hardcore about keeping things uniform, aesthetically pleasing, and certainly making sure that the greenery blended comfortably into the background. This guy, however, was impossible not to look at.

  
I sat down, my back pressed against the trunk, knees up, and tried to think hard, but my head was all over the place. I’d only had a couple of drinks, but tonight it was all hitting harder than it usually did, and I was definitely tipsier then I usually allow myself to be. I don’t like not being in control of myself. The dizziness, lightheadedness, and lack of focus was not going to get the best of me. If anything, I was determined to take control of it, push past it, and get myself together. Get this situation with the tree together. I was not getting back to bed until I figured out what was going on.

  
Before I could think too long and hard, I heard a crunching noise, and then more and more, along with some general shuffling around coming from up above me. When I looked up, I was disappointed-- mostly because I was hoping the appearance of this tree was much more sinister than some son of Hermes dicking around. But, there he sat-- Hunter, head counselor for the Hermes cabin, infamous for never showing up to any of the staff meetings. That was mainly how I knew his name. I was planning on chewing him out one of these days, most because I didn’t appreciate him taking my dream job so lightly. He was still a pretty well-admired guy. Not popular in the way I am, but honestly, there was a little piece of me that felt like maybe that was better. I don’t like feeling like that.

  
I remembered, also, that he was in charge of giving the tour around camp to all the newcomers. He was really good with words, charismatic, but always had something up his sleeve. Another thing he was infamous for pranking the unprankable. When would I get on his hit list? Seeing him here, now, I wondered if he intended to make a victim out of me.  
I stood up, brushed myself off, and stared him down-- he was sitting on a sturdy looking branch, his hair wavy and all over the face, falling in front of his eyes. He had that smirk that was quintessential for just about every Hermes kid, looking like he owned the world. Well, that’s my look. I wasn’t about to give it up that easily.  
“Wheeen did you get here?” I asked though it was hard to keep my voice cool, collected, and powerful. I could barely stand up straight without shifting from foot to foot. He sat up, straightened his posture- aw, just for me? I rolled my eyes.

  
“Oh, I’ve been here the whole time,” he said, in a tone that might’ve been assuring if it weren’t so mocking. “You’re the one who came out of nowhere. Interrupted me while I was in the zone, setting this baby up!”

  
Was this kid seriously picking a fight with me this late at night-- this early in the morning--?! I crossed my arms and took a few steps closer. At this point, we were only a few feet apart and our heads would’ve been more level if he weren’t up a couple of feet higher than me. I’m not a fan of this angle.  
“Liiiisten, Hunner,” I managed to slur. “I dunno what you’re up to, but I don’ like the look of it.”  
He laughed at me when I started speaking, which immediately was a kick to my ego and brought about a scowl. He wasn’t making a very good, technically-first impression, but I think he knew that. And, he just didn’t care. Or, even worse, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

  
“It’s… not funny!” I protested, wagging my pointer finger around toward him. “I… have a right to know what’s going here!”

  
I don’t know what compelled me to do this, but I reached out and poked him in the chest. It was an attempt at being aggressive, commanding, maybe, but I think it just amused him more. God, I was so stupid. Reactions like this are exactly what he and his siblings feed off of.

  
“What, exactly, are you scolding me for right now? I’m a bit confused.” He asked eyebrow raised. “I mean, you’re free to keep going. I’m just trying to keep this lecture organized.”

  
“What?” I said. I didn’t quite get what he asked but I was sure it was meant to be condescending. “This tree does not belong here and youuuu! Put it here!” I poked him again, harder, on his ankle this time.

  
This time, he reacted and swatted my hand away, pretty gently though. He definitely knew I was drunk and I hated that. I hated not being able to think at my fullest capacity and obliterate him like I’m usually capable of. I mean, I had to admit-- why was I so angry with him? What if I just came across as jealous? Or, he started talking about my behavior with the other head counselors? What was I… doing?

  
“I… I mean-- I, well, I don’t know. Did… you put this here?”

  
He smiled, leaning forward a bit. When he did that, the moonlight hit his face much better and his features were clear-- whew, he was cuter than I remembered. My brain felt so scattered.

“I did. You got me,” he said softly, holding out his wrists toward me. “Here to cuff me?”

  
I felt a blush creeping up onto my face and turned so that we weren’t making eye contact anymore. Look, I was feeling pretty vulnerable and blue eyes… are my weakness. My only weakness.

Gosh, I really was all over the place.

“I was just walking back to my cabin,” I grumbled, “and it threw me off guard, okay? I like knowing where I am.”

“It’s part of a prank for the newbies,” he explained, leaning back up against the tree trunk. “It took me a really long time to set up, just so you know. I thought you were poking around to disassemble it.”

“Well, maybe I will,” I shot back, turning to look at him defiantly. “I mean, picking on them is going to give them the wrong signals about our camp environment. We-- we have to be understanding, kind, friendly faces--”

“Collette, trust me. We’re more than likely the friendliest faces they’ve ever encountered.”

I frowned. “That’s not their fault.”

I think he could tell he hit a serious nerve this time because his expression softened a bit.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not.”

He hopped down from the branch and stretched his arms out, letting out a pretty fierce yawn while he was at it.

“But, I think that’s why doing things like this will make them feel more… at home. Show them we’re not going to just tiptoe around them like they’re fragile.”

“They are fragile. Some of them are-- babies!”

“They are, but that’s why we have to show them that we can see beyond that. That, they’re capable of more. Some of them have spent their whole lives thinking they’re failures, outcasts, and whatever else, just because demigods always happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”  
I could tell he was pretty passionate about this. His eyes lit up, but his face was gentle, reserved. He didn’t feel the need to raise his voice, speak over me, or shoot me down immediately. It could just be that I have pretty low standards when it comes to interactions like these, but this was pretty refreshing.

“I think we all have our ways of making them feel welcome here,” he said, with a smile growing. “This is mine. And, after years of helping these kids acclimate, I think it’s worked out pretty okay.”

I understood a lot of where he was coming from. When Rosemary and I first got here, I wanted to puke every time someone came up to me and apologized for us ending up here. I started to associate being here with being a punishment of some sort-- but, that was the absolute wrong way to think about the situation. I know that now. The first time I fought with one of my half-sisters, arguing over who stole who’s a hairbrush, I remember something snapped in me, and I broke out my shell, letting out the barrage of pent up frustrations. Like, the way our shower drains were always clogged with hair; how our makeup vanities were never really clean; how all of our shoes got so easily mixed up together and that I was sure I was wearing someone else’s white tennis shoes. Once my poison sacs were empty, I flopped onto the bed, in shame, embarrassment, but an odd sense of comfort. She and I made up within minutes and we spent the rest of the week figuring out ways to tackle the shower drain problem. Everything else was pretty much a permanent occurrence, but I grew to not mind it so much.

“Is it really that deep?” I asked teasingly, softening my expression and uncrossing my arms so that one was hanging awkwardly down my side, the other still clutching my bare midriff.

“At the end of the day, it’s just a joke,” he said, sounding actually assuring this time. “I always try to make sure they know that.”

“How do you know my name, by the way?” I asked. I really had the attention span of a goldfish, all of a sudden.

“Well, I mean,” He didn’t miss a beat: “How could I not?”

Something about the way he said that was so validating and satisfying. Although he was right-- nowadays it was pretty hard to avoid me-- I liked knowing that someone so different from me could have some vague interest in who I was. Another part of me was embarrassed and wondered just what it was he knew. I didn’t need to be known as much as I needed to have power, have influence.

“I should, um, probably get going,” I managed to make out. “It’s… pretty late.”

He nodded and unless I was just fooling myself, I sensed a tinge of disappointment in his eyes. “Sure. Don’t you want to know what this big, mean prank is, though?”  
I smiled. “Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Good,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

Rather ungracefully, I turned around, away from him, and started stumbling forward in the direction of my cabin, heart feeling warm and heavy, all at once.


	3. The End of Spring and the Impending Storm

☆ - ☆ - ☆

I woke up to the scent of chocolate milk and Froot Loops, the cursed combination my sister Rosemary just loved to eat every morning, especially while sitting on my bed just because she knew the smell alone was enough to shock me awake. I gagged and reached for a blanket to pull over my head, but right on cue, she snatched it away and tossed it to the ground. That blanket was way, way too expensive to be tossed around like that but because I was hungover and still half-asleep, I let it slide. I winced and chills spread all throughout my body from the cool, morning air that liked to grace Camp Half-Blood at the beginning of summer, the last few remnants of spring. Despite the fact that she'd used her best ammunition, I was determined to hold onto the inkling of sleepiness that I could feel fading.

"Pleeeease, go away," I whined, curling up into a fetal position, and facing away from my sister. It would never fail to shock me just how easily this kid was able to function early in the morning, fueled with the kind of rejuvenation I'd pretty much sell my soul for.

"It's time to waaake up! It's almost 9. Practice starts in 20 minutes and you promised you'd watch me train today!"

While most of the girls in our cabin spent the first week of summer catching up on sleep and signing up for the most leisurely activities possible, Rosemary had jumped straight into the swordsmanship classes. Look, I thought my sister was a badass for it and all, but it was starting to drive me crazy just how seriously she took those classes. She woke up at 7 to work out on her own before ritually coming back into the cabin a few hours after and trying to get me to wake up and join her. It never worked, mostly because while my body appears toned and fit on the outside, even a mild jog gets me winded.

She was being much more persistent than usual. I'd agreed to come to a few of her practices, but to be fair, those agreements were made when I was sleep-deprived and desperate. This was the last practice before tryouts for the advanced class and I knew my sister was a bundle of nerves, but not even sisterly compassion was enough to wave away the massive headache 5 hours of sleep induced.

I let out my most masterful, pity-inducing groan and stretched my arms and legs out. "I went to bed at 4 last night. C'mon, Rose. I'll watch you another time."

In response, and I'm pretty sure with malicious intent, Rosemary scarfed some more spoonfuls of cereal down, making sure to let out extra-loud slurping sounds when she sipped on the chocolate milk. She just... really knew how to get under my skin. But, I knew how to get under hers.

I sat up, abruptly, hoping to catch her off guard, and wiggled my fingers in her direction. "Don't make me have to do this."

Her eyes widened and she scooched back, pressed against the end of my bedframe. "I'm eating. If you tickle me, it'll just spill everywhere."

I let out another groan and flopped back down onto my back. Fine, she won this time.

"Please, Colette. You promised. Tryouts are  _tomorrow._  Practice isn't that long, anyway. C'mon, C'mon. If this were one of those dumb breakfast meet-ups you and your posse do, you'd have been up and awake hours ago."

"They're not dumb," I grumbled, taking my pillow and covering my head with it. She was referring to the obligatory breakfasts my friends and I got together for in order to discuss our battle plan for the rest of the summer. We discussed things like dates to upcoming parties, finding new ways to embellish the bright-orange camp shirts we were forced to wear and the most sure-fire ways to sneak in alcohol. Really important stuff. Well... maybe it was a little trivial, but to me, it meant everything. Every small step I took this summer had to be calculated and precise-- this was  _the_  summer I'd become a head counselor after all. If Aphrodite saw just how much I stood out and contributed to the camp's social scene, she'd just  _have_  to nominate me as head counselor. And, to do that, she'd have to speak to me-- something I knew she was avoiding after my father disappeared. I wonder if she realized that my sister and I were the ones most torn up about him being gone. Not even the Goddess of Love could compare her heartbreak to what my sister and I had experienced that first year without him.

"Cooooolette."

"Just surprise me with all your cool moves at tryouts, then, okay? I don't get why I have to come to your practice, too, when... you'd just be spoiling everything I'd see tomorrow. And, I'd just distract you. These practices are for you, Rose, not for me. I promise I'll come to tryouts but if you make me get up out of bed right now, I'll groan and complain and whine until your ears pop."

Was I being a little harsh? Maybe. But, the sleep deprivation was really creeping up on me and her cereal abomination was making me really nauseous. I just wanted her to go away so I could sleep until noon and forget all about how Drew from the Apollo cabin kissed like a fish, something I found out last night after my girls and I went for a swim with some of the people from his cabin. He was gorgeous, well-liked, and just the kind of guy I could date to really boost my repertoire but just thinking about having to withstand more of him trying to suck my lips off and call them kisses just gets me tense. Call me shallow, but I'm pretty sure he's only after me to boost his ego, anyway. If I'm going to date someone vain and self-obsessed, he should at least be a good kisser and maybe want to hold my hand every once in a while. Was that just too much to ask for?

"Okay, fine, I guess you're right," Rosemary replied, a little pout in her voice. She let out a big, long, guilt-tripping sigh and pulled on my big toe. "I'm so, so nervous for tomorrow, Colette. I've never done anything like this before."

"You'll be amazing," I said, bringing my knees to my chest and shutting my eyes, fully ready to fall asleep right then and there. "I know that for a fact. Just focus on--"

"Having fun?" Rose cut in, giggling right after.

"Keeping your balance, you big klutz," I snapped back. "But, really. I know you'll blow me away."

I lifted up the pillow I was using to cover my head and opened one eye. She was smiling down at me-- a big, toothy grin that never failed to warm my heart. I couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks, Colette."

She leaned forward and I knew she was going to kiss my cheek, but hell if I let her any closer to me with nasty cereal breath. With as much strength as I could muster, I just barely managed to shove her away.

"Seriously, though. Eat that on my sheets one more time and I'll literally burn every box of Froot Loops we have."

"Geez. What a waste!"

"No, no. Just a little offering to the Gods."

Rosemary's laugh resounded through the entire cabin. She just had this way of completely lighting up the room, no matter how grumpy me or my bunkmates were.

"Goodnight, goodnight," Rosemary cooed, before hopping off my bed, cereal bowl in hand, and padding out the door, toward the arena where her practice was being held.

I reached for the blanket that was still curled up on the floor and wrapped myself up in it before cozying up against the wall and getting back into sleepy-time mode. For a moment, I was able to forget about bad-kisser Drew, Rosemary's chocolate-milky Froot Loops breath, and the bashful cold air that was slowly starting to fade. That was the best sleep I'd gotten in ages. Seriously, even as a baby, I was beyond fussy and not even Nyquil lulled me to sleep better.

But, you know what they say about the calm before the storm. As promising as it may seem, truly gentle, peaceful moments at Camp Half-Blood just don't last.

_This one sure didn't._

☆ - ☆ - ☆


End file.
